


A Clean Shot

by Selena_Guardi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Shooting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2418692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selena_Guardi/pseuds/Selena_Guardi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I.O.U. that was what Moriarty had said and this time he is going to keep his promises.</p><p>With Moriarty's return a normal case solving afternoon turns into Sherlock's worst nightmare as his world comes crashing down around him and all he can do is watch helplessly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Being shot isn't loud. Some might say it's a very British way of murder. Unlike bombs or poisoning, there really is not that much fuss. There's no big explosion, no uncontrollable shaking, no vomit, there usually isn't even a scream. You just collapse. And if you are a trained enough sniper you can be miles away, out of sight, detached really. Shooting somebody is quick, quiet and efficient, in a way neat.  
  
At least for the shooter.  
  
For the victim it entails a substantial amount of pain, though a clean shot can - to be fair - kill you quite quickly. Well, a **clean** shot.  
  


* * *

"Listen to my voice! Focus on my voice! The wound really isn't that bad, everything will be fine. Just stay with me!"

Lying, that's what you were supposed to do in these situations. Fear increases the heart rate which will only lead to further complications. And maybe he was trying to convince himself, too, looking down on his blue scarf soaked in blood, applying as much pressure as possible to the bleeding wound.

Why was it taking so long to get help? They were outside a bloody hospital; it shouldn't be too difficult to locate a doctor.

"Everything will be alright."

* * *

The emergency waiting area was surprisingly quiet. Sherlock would have expected crying, maybe even shouting. But apart from the constant ticking of the big white clock on the wall the room was absolutely still. Here they all sat: scared wives, anxious mothers, worried husbands, in perfect silence. On a normal day he would have taken some interest in their cases, who they were waiting for, what had happened.

On a normal day he might have seen the guilt in the teenage boy's eyes in the corner. He might have noticed the faint smell of alcohol that still hung in the air and the bruise on his chest so clearly from a seatbelt. He might have picked up on the young mother hugging a child's bike helmet to her chest like it was the last thing that kept her from drowning.

But this was no normal day. Because on normal days he was in the morgue one level below, a place he didn't dare to think about at the moment. On a normal day he wouldn't be sitting here, useless, helpless, staring at his blood covered hands.  
  


* * *

_Earlier that day._

  
"It must have been the sister. There's no other probable solution. It seems fairly unlikely given her state but if we take in every fact and eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable it sounds, must be the truth. I'll text Lestrade to bring her in for questioning. I'm sure sooner or later she will contradict herself."  
  
Sherlock took his phone out of his coat pocket and send a quick text to Lestrade. He didn't feel the need to explain his conclusion. The Detective Inspector trusted his judgement and would do just as instructed. But Sherlock didn't like how the case was developing. He hated to rely on interrogations, people were always so messy. He liked to lay out the evidence in front of them and see their last bits of hope crumble away as he presented them with the undeniable truth. He felt like he was missing something in this case but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. There seemed to be something essential he didn't know yet, and he didn't like not knowing.  
  
"Let’s just have a look at the victim again, just to be sure.“ he said. "Maybe we'll find something to prove her guilty."  
  
He really didn't like not knowing.  
  
  
As they were approaching the familiar building of St Bart's his mobile buzzed and he took a quick look at Lestrade's reply. Donovan had just left to make the arrest. Soon they would get to the bottom of this.  
  
HAVING ANOTHER LOOK AT THE VICTIM AGAIN. MIGHT PROVE USEFUL FOR THE INTERROGATION LATER. DON'T START WITHO-  
  
Something at the edge of his vision caught his eye and he stopped in his tracks. A card had fallen from the roof and landed only metres away on the pavement. It lay at the exact same spot as Sherlock had over two years ago, dressed up in blood with a squash ball under his arm. With two quick strides he walked over and scanned the roof but couldn't see anybody against the bright sunlight. Crouching down he examined the card closer. On the side facing him was an illustration from some sort of religious story: a winged man being pushed from the heavens down to the earth, a fallen angel. Holding his breath Sherlock gingerly reached for the card. He knew only one person that would use such a card as a message, somebody who liked to narrate his own stories, who liked to play with symbolism.  
  
 _You're on the side of the angels._  
  
Dreading the back of the card, Sherlock turned it around slowly and his worst fears suddenly became reality when he read the word ' _BORING_ ' in big red letters on it.  
Little did he know that this would be just the start of a series of nightmares coming true that day. Right there in that second, when he realised that Moriarty had not only returned but just presented him with his first move, he had not the faintest idea of what was to come. He couldn't see the little red dot of light dancing on the back of his head, as he went through the emergency plans he had established for this occurrence in his mind palace.  
  
There really was no possibility for him to know that only an instant later he would find himself being violently pushed aside without a warning and that Molly Hooper would be lying next to him, in a rapidly growing pool of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked that rather dramatic start into the story. I kept the chapter short on purpose to not give too much away just yet. There is more angst to come.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here comes chapter 2 and I'm sorry but it won't be a happy one. There's a lot of anxiety and angst to get through and that will take some more chapters. Nevertheless, I hope you will enjoy this.

John had just picked up his jacket and wanted to leave for his lunch break when his mobile rang. Seeing Mycroft’s name on the display he let out a little sigh and answered.

“Yes, Mycroft? I was just heading out for lunch, what do you want?”

“I hope I’m not bothering you too much.  There seems to have been a shooting at St. Bart’s and I thought you would like to be informed about that.”

John dropped his jacket to the floor. Suddenly everything around him seemed to slow down while his mind raced from one thought to the other. _Shooting at Bart’s. Sherlock had told him that he would be at Bart’s today, investigating that murder case Lestrade was working on at the moment._

“Was anybody hurt? Is Sherlock ok?!”

“That’s exactly why I am calling. According to my people at the scene Sherlock is uninjured, as far as I know there is only one victim. But he doesn’t answer his phone nor has he replied to any of my texts. Knowing my little brother I worry he is already rushing into something that could turn out to be very dangerous indeed. I would take care of the situation myself but I am terribly busy and you know how much he hates it when I get involved. Therefore, I thought it wiser to send you to make sure that he is in fact alright.”

“Of course…”, John stammered, trying to slow his heart rate again. “I will get a cab right now.”

“That won’t be necessary, I already sent a car. Thank you, John. And I would appreciate it if you could update me on further developments. Good da-“

“Wait! Do you know who the victim is?”, John interrupted before he could hang up.

“Of course, just… wait…”

He heard Mycroft on the other end look through what must already be a report on the shooting. To John it seemed like it took forever to find the name although it must only have been seconds.

“Ah, here it is. One Dr. Hooper apparently. She is in emergency surgery right now; her state seems to be critical.”

“Molly!”, John breathed his eyes widening in shock.

Without another word he hung up, grabbed his keys from the table and rushed out the door.

“Mary, cancel all appointments for this afternoon! There has been a shooting at Bart’s, Molly was injured. I have to get there right now. Mycroft already sent a car. Sherlock is there but he’s not answering his phone.”

“What happened? John? Slow down.”

“I don’t really know what happened, all I know is that Molly has been shot and they don’t know if she is going to make it. She might die. And I don’t know what that will do to Sherlock.”

“Oh God.”, was all Mary could reply as realization hit her, one hand over her mouth the same terror in her eyes that crept up inside John.

John felt dizzy, he tried to steady his breath but he couldn’t get calmer. Molly Hooper had been injured and was fighting for her life right now. Although they never really spoke much, Molly was very dear to him. She was such a friendly and warm person and with all the insults she had to take from Sherlock over the past years, he was surprised and sometimes even impressed that she still helped them whenever she could. Nobody deserved to die, but he couldn’t think of anybody who deserved it less than that sweet little woman. And he knew that Sherlock liked her more than he would admit, more than he probably knew himself. He had seen the look on Sherlock’s face when she entered a room or when she laughed about one of his morbid jokes. He had seen him show off his skills of deduction again and again in front of her. And there had been a shift in Sherlock’s behaviour towards her lately; he didn’t seem to take her unconditional friendship for granted anymore. And now her life was in danger. Leaning with one hand on the counter he tried to shake off the panic rising inside him.

“I have to see if he’s ok.”, he sad blankly.

Leaping off her chair behind the reception desk Mary came around to her husband and took his hand in hers.

“Of course. You take Mycroft’s car, I take care of everything here. As soon as I’m finished I’ll come over there as well.”, she said in a calming voice giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you.”

“But promise me to be careful.”, she said and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Everything will be ok.”

The next moment John was out the door and on the back seat of the car Mycroft had sent, hoping that London’s traffic for once would be on his side and he wouldn’t be too late.

* * *

There’s only a certain amount of blood you can lose before your body starts to act up. It really isn’t that much of a science. With a blood loss of about 15 to 30% everything is still fine; the heartbeat might increase a little mostly resulting in a slightly anxious, restless feeling. As the blood is directed away to major organs the skin might start to look pale and feel cold or clammy. But you will live. A blood loss of 30 to 40% will send you into a hypovolemic shock; the heart rate and respiration increasing drastically alongside cool sweat and pale skin. Patients will seem confused and extremely anxious.

 Anything beyond that point is what they call a stage 4.

When the heart beats over 140 times per minute and the breathing becomes so rapid that you reach 40 respirations in the same time. When the body struggles to get the so desperately needed oxygen to vital organs. When the pulse becomes so weak that you can barely feel it anymore. When the chalk white skin feels cold and sweaty to the touch. When patients slowly but surely drift off into unconsciousness or even coma. That is what they call a stage 4.

* * *

“Sherlock? Sherlock?!”, John came running down the corridor looking frantically around in search of his best friend.

As he spotted him on one of the chairs close to the emergency surgery entrance he felt relieved for a moment. He had half expected to not find him here; he had already seen him chasing the shooter halfway through London. Not stopping until he had caught him or alternatively was stopped himself. Seeing him well and alive lifted a weight off his heart. But that positive feeling instantly melted away when he came closer and could actually see the state Sherlock was in.

He looked sweaty and pale, the front of his shirt and sleeves smeared with blood, his scarf lying on the next chair soaked in the red fluid. But what troubled John most was Sherlock’s blank stare. His elbows on his knees with a slightly drooping head he seemed not to be able to take his gaze off his hands, his fingers outstretched and covered in now dried blood. John couldn’t remember ever seeing his friend like this. Of course, he was used to Sherlock zoning out for hours on end, descending into his mind palace and shutting the world out. But this was different, he didn’t look concentrated or focused, he didn’t seem to think at all. The man sitting in front of him simply looked lost.

“Sherlock? Are you alright?”, John asked quietly laying one hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

But he didn’t look up, he didn’t react, he didn’t move at all.

“Sherlock? Did you hear me?”, John tried again crouching down in front of him trying to look at Sherlock’s face.

“Talk to me, Sherlock.”

In an attempt to wake him from his shock, John reached out and grabbed Sherlock’s wrists pulling his hands down a little.

“Are. You . Alright?”

As a few moments passed and he still got no reaction, John was nearly about to give up when Sherlock suddenly pressed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply. Giving him his time, John let go of Sherlock’s hands and waited patiently for his friend to look up and finally speak to him. But when after what felt like a minute of silence Sherlock finally did speak, he didn’t look up, he barely moved, he just kept staring at his own hands, voicing the one thought that had been in his head ever since Molly had vanished through the doors behind him.

“The sniper was aiming at me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anybody is interested, I actually made a drawing for this chapter as well. Feel free to have a look [here](http://selenaguardis-art.tumblr.com/post/99669703545/the-sniper-was-aiming-at-me-chapter-2-a).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter a lot. I rewrote the first draft, threw out whole paragraphs and restructured it. I was so frustrated that I packed my backpack at quarter past 11 pm and went to the gym yesterday to somehow take my mind off the story. I hope it works now and conveys the feelings and thoughts I wanted to put into it. Anyway, enjoy and see you at the end.

“It doesn’t make any sense! There has to be something! There always is something.”

Sherlock pushed back his chair aggressively and ruffled his hair in frustration.

“What am I missing?”, he exclaimed as he started to pace around the room restlessly.

Molly looked up from her report, a worried look on her face. Sherlock had been getting more and more aggravated over the last hour and his constant walking around made it hard for her to work at all.

“Maybe there simply isn’t that much evidence this time. Maybe the killer was just really cautious?”

“Every murderer makes mistakes, they all make mistakes. Always!”

He resumed his seat behind his microscope, just to jump up again five minutes later. Annoyed Molly put down her pen and turned to face him.

“It must have been the sister. I just can’t find the evidence to support my theory.”, he said a determined frown on his face.

“The sister? But isn’t she pregnant?”

“Doesn’t mean she isn’t capable of murder.”, Sherlock shrugged. “It’s the only solution that makes sense. But I can’t find a way to prove it.”

Once again running his hand through his hair he walked over to her table. If he hadn’t been so unnerving today, she might have found his hair ruffle attractive, but in his current state Sherlock was hard to endure.

“What am I missing?”, he asked her a wild look on his face.

“How should I know, Sherlock? You have been working on this case for days and you found already twice as much as I did in the first autopsy. I don’t think I can help you with this.”

“Well, you could at least try!”, he shot back walking over to the window.

He knew it instantly; he knew that he had gone too far. He heard her take a deep breath and return to her work. The case was really getting to him and that he couldn’t find the missing pieces to complete this puzzle drove him up the wall. He never failed. But that was no excuse for his behaviour. He didn’t mean to shout, it just had happened and now he felt bad. Turning around gingerly he looked at Molly trying to figure out how much damage he had done. He walked back to her desk and stood beside her silently waiting for her to look up. But she didn’t, Molly was determined to not take any more insults or let him ruin her day.

“I’m sorry.”, Sherlock whispered. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

Molly continued to scribble down her notes angrily.

“This case just makes me …” , but he trailed off midsentence not exactly sure how to explain.

“I know I’m not the easiest person to work with and I –“

“Well that’s an understatement!”, Molly exclaimed turning to face him directly.

Sherlock tried to offer her an apologetic smirk and Molly sighed. She couldn’t stay angry with that man for too long, after all he was still Sherlock.

“Did I mention I’m sorry?”

“Yes, you did.”

Rolling her eyes she got up and reached for her bag.

“Why don’t we take an early lunch break? Seems like I’m not going to finish this report any time soon and it might clear your head a bit.”, she suggested while putting on her coat.

“I don’t eat during cases.”, he stated matter-of-factly.

“Well, then **I** am going to take an early lunch break and you can watch me eat. I don’t care. But I think that pacing around the lab won’t get you any closer to solving this case. You have to stop thinking about it for a bit, take your mind off the evidence.”

“I never stop thinking.”,  he said confusion on his face.

“Well, then you better learn how to, and do it fast, because if you don’t solve this case any time soon, there might be a new murder and this time you definitely won’t be able investigate it.”, and with that she took him by the sleeve and pulled him outside.

And Molly had been right. Although Sherlock had tried to protest at first, he patiently waited next to her as she bought a sandwich and juice in the hospital cafeteria, he silently nodded when she suggested a little walk and he wordlessly sat next to her on a bench on the Barbican lake terrace while she had her lunch. As restless as he had been in the confinement of the lab, he gradually calmed watching the repetitive pattern of the fountain in front of them.

“I really like this place.”, Molly said following his gaze. “A lot of people think it’s ugly, but I find it fascinating with all its different buildings and walkways. There is so much built into this complex: the cinemas, the theatre, the concert hall, there’s even a conservatory. Once you look past the cold brutalist stone facade it turns out to be a quite wondrous place.”

Sherlock contemplated her words for a while in silence before he replied the only thing that came to his mind on the subject.

“It was a big bomb site during World War II. Everything around here was levelled to the ground that’s why they could build such a vast complex.”

“Oh... that’s ... interesting.”, Molly finished for lack of a more appropriate word.

“It’s quite practical to shake off anybody who is following you, too. There are a multitude of different exit possibilities, sharp corners and staircases which make it easier to escape.”

“Ok, duely noted. If I need to shake off followers I’ll go here.”, Molly replied and couldn’t repress a slight chuckle.

They sat on the bench in perfect silence for a bit longer before Molly suggested heading back to St Bart’s. Following the yellow line on the ground they made their way past the school and around Shakespeare tower until they were nearly back at the tube station when suddenly Sherlock grabbed Molly’s arm and pulled her to a stop.

“Thank you.”, he said looking straight at her.

“For what?”, was all Molly could stammer with those bright blue eyes staring down at her.

“For letting me work at the lab although you are not obligated to do so. For enduring my rude behaviour and not kicking me out when you so obviously had every right to. I just want you to know that I do appreciate it... appreciate you. Not everybody would be so forgiving. And you should know that I don’t take it for granted, because I think you still believe I do.”

Suddenly Molly’s mouth felt very dry and she swallowed soundly, not taking her eyes off Sherlock for one second. He never stopped to surprise her. With all the hurt he had caused her over the last years it was easy to forget that he actually had a different side to him. A side that usually was hidden behind a purposely built up wall of snide remarks, cold facts and an unfathomable facade of detachment. And it was in those rare moments when he let down his guard that she actually saw the man she had always believed him to be. A man that despite what everybody thought cared deeply for the ones around him.

“Well then, let’s solve a murder.”, Sherlock said rubbing his hands together with a confident smile on his face snapping Molly back into reality.

And just as suddenly as he had let down his wall it was up again and Molly tried to keep up with his quick stride feeling still a bit dumbfounded.

* * *

Mary found John and Sherlock sitting in the emergency surgery waiting area.

“Hey, any news yet?”, she asked softly giving John’s shoulder a light squeeze.

“No, apparently she is still in surgery.”, John answered a worried look on his face.

“Sherlock, are you ok? Do you need anything?”

But Sherlock didn’t reply nor move. In fact, he hadn’t spoken a word since he had explained that Molly had pushed him out of the line and saved him. The only sign that he was still registering his surroundings was his hopeful look to the surgery doors whenever a doctor or nurse came out, that was crushed as soon as he realised that there were no news for them.

Mary looked at her husband with raised eyebrows who just shook his head in response.

“Why don’t I get you tea?”, she said trying for the most light hearted tone she could muster up.

“I’ll come with you.”, John said being glad to have something to do.

He hated waiting. He was a man of action, he fixed things. But this wasn’t something you could fix easily. There was nothing he could do, they could just wait and hope for the best.

“So, is he ok?”, Mary asked as soon as they were out of ear shot.

“Well, physically yes. I have never seen him like this before, Mary. Nothing has ever affected him like this.”

“Did he tell you what happened exactly?”

“He hasn’t spoken much; since I got here I barely got two sentences out of him. But he told me that the sniper was aiming at him. Molly was never meant to be the victim. She pushed him out of the way and was hit instead. She saved his life.”

The silence that hung between them was deafening as they got three cups of tea from the nearest machine and walked back to Sherlock. But neither dared to turn their thoughts into actual words, like saying them out loud would somehow make them more real. Nobody wanted to voice their worries, and so they just resumed their seats, sipping tea and holding on to each other for support. The cup they had placed on the table next to Sherlock remained untouched, and it was cold long before he would even stir again.

* * *

When Molly had woken up that morning she instantly knew that it would be a nice day. For a moment she lay still with her eyes closed, feeling the warm sun on her face before turning to switch off her alarm clock on her bedside table. Yawning and stretching she walked over to her window blinking in the bright light. She liked the days on which she had a late shift. She enjoyed waking up slowly and not having to rush into work before the sun was even up yet. She liked to have the mornings off, that she could spent with a nice cup of tea and a book. And looking out of her window observing the people on the street below she could see that it would be one of those rare London autumn days when the mist of the early morning haze slowly dissolved to leave nothing behind but a clear sky.

She was in good spirits when she took a shower, when she was greeted by Toby in the kitchen and when she refilled his bowl. She hummed along to a song on the radio when she made herself breakfast and she had a smile on her face when she settled on her couch a hot cup of tea in her hand. She was so determined to have nothing ruin her good mood that she even left the washing up in the sink; there was still enough time to do that tonight. And when she finally left for work she felt more relaxed and genuinely happy than she had been for weeks. Because life doesn’t work like it does in films or stories. There are no warning signs; there is no bad feeling that you can’t explain; no nagging thought at the back of your mind that you have forgotten something. Because life isn’t fair, it doesn’t care for second chances.

Bad things just happen, they come out of the blue when you are least expecting them.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Molly had seen the little red dot of light on the back of Sherlock’s head she had made her decision. There really wasn’t much to think about, she reacted on pure instinct. Throwing herself with all her weight against him she hoped that she had been quick enough. As her hip and shoulder connected with the hard concrete she thought for a second that the bullet had through some miracle missed her as well. Surely, being shot felt different. She had imagined it to be at least a bit more painful than this, a lot more painful to be honest because she didn’t feel any pain at all. All she really felt was this unsettling numbness. When she first heard Sherlock’s voice it sounded far away, like he was talking to her through a thick layer of fog. She saw his dark curled head appear above her but everything was still in a blur. She willed her eyes to focus, her ears to concentrate on his voice, she tried to sit up to shake off this daze. And then it all came rushing in, the pain that was so strong it made her lungs constrict, Sherlock’s cries for help, so loud that they rang in her ears, and his face above her panic written in his features. She felt warmth spread over her body and reached for her stomach only to find it strangely wet before Sherlock pushed her down and demanded her to remain still.

While he told her to stay focused on his voice she looked at the clear blue sky above her and couldn’t help but feel cheated. Cheated because there was still so much that she had wanted to do, so much she hadn’t said, so many things left unfinished. Cheated because this was supposed to be the moment when your life was flashing before your eyes, when you relive all your best moments. She was supposed to see her Dad, his smile, how he had carried her around on his back in their garden, how he had built the swing on the apple tree at the front of the house. She was meant to see her Mother, feel her light touch as she hugged her, her reassuring squeeze on her hand, her proud look as Molly passed her final exam. She was supposed to feel comfort, warmth and love, but all she got was this agonizing pain and a coldness that slowly crept up her body. She was meant to see a hundred memories before her eyes, but all she could think about as Sherlock’s face slowly blurred again was that dirty set of dishes in her sink. That dirty set of dishes that now might never get cleaned up.

_What a stupid last thought!_ She scolded herself before everything went dark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And still we're waiting for news but I can promise you that you won't have to wait much longer ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how when you let a fic rest for too long and you feel like you have forgotten how to write it? That's how I felt about "A Clean Shot" and the longer I waited the harder it seemed to get. Anyway, here is a new chapter and I hope you won't be too disappointed...

The human brain is a funny thing. It separates us distinctively from all other living organisms on the world. Humans are capable of self-control, planning, reasoning, and abstract thought. We create, we invent, we write and we play; our cerebral cortex gives us endless possibilities. Without our brain we would be nothing.

And yet the human brain is such a feeble and delicate organ.

* * *

John's phone buzzing in his pocket ripped him from his thoughts and made him jump slightly.

"It's Mycroft again. I'll better take this outside, maybe he has news on the sniper." he explained facing Mary and getting up to leave.

"Don't you want to speak to him, Sherlock? He's really worried, you know." he asked his best friend but after getting no reaction John took the call and disappeared through the glass doors leading outside.

Mary studied Sherlock's profile for a while before reaching out to take his hand in hers.

"It's not your fault. I know you think it is but you have to stop that. Blaming this on you will do you no good... and it won't help her either."

Slowly Sherlock's face turned and he looked at her still a blank expression on his face.

"I know how you feel. I've been through similar situations and I blamed myself but the only person that really is to blame is the sniper." she went on, keeping her voice calm and steady. "I know how much she means to you. We always make jokes about you not having a heart, but I know that's not true. I know you care for the people around you; I instantly saw it the first time we met. You do care. But you have to remember this.is.not.your.fault." she repeated punctuating every word.

"What if she d-" Sherlock whispered but was cut off by Mary instantly.

"She won't. Molly is strong; she will make it through this." Mary stated more confident than she actually felt.

Of course she had no idea if Molly was going to make it. Nobody could know for sure at this point but she knew that she wouldn't give up hope. She squeezed Sherlock's hand reassuringly and quietly added "She will be ok."

* * *

For a patient to maintain consciousness, two important neurological components must function. The first is the cerebral cortex—the gray matter that covers the outer layer of the brain. The other is a structure located in the brainstem, called reticular activating system - short RAS. Injury or insufficient oxygen supply to either or both of these components will cause a patient to experience a coma.

In fact 25% of comatose states occur from lack of oxygen, generally resulting from cardiac arrest. The central nervous system requires a great deal of oxygen for its neurons. If cardiac arrest goes untreated for more than five minutes brain injury is likely to happen and our whole body will simply shut down.

Everything depends on that big squishy grey organ sitting inside our skulls.

* * *

Mycroft had called three more times before the doctor operating Molly came out to the waiting area. To both Sherlock and the Watsons the time they had been waiting felt like an eternity.

As soon as the glass doors slid open, Sherlock's head jerked up and he was standing in front of the doctor the next moment, the Watsons following him close behind.

"How is she?" Sherlock asked unable to hide the fear in his voice.

"She is stable now. She lost a lot of blood but we were able to stop the internal bleeding. She was actually pretty lucky. But she is still unconscious and although she was brought in right away we can't determine yet if the brain was subjected to any lasting damage."

"But she is stable?" John threw in nodding.

"Yes. She will be put into a room for now and as soon as she wakes up we can do some further tests to determine the impact on the brain. I don't know her personally but I know she's generally liked in the hospital and we all hope for the best but right now this is all I can say with full certainty."

* * *

Ten minutes later they all stood in one of the hospital's rooms around Molly's bed. She seemed even smaller than usual, her skin still incredibly pale, electrodes attached to her chest and an oxygen tube leading to her nose. She looked calm, almost peaceful. For a while nobody spoke; the only sound being the quiet beep of the ECG machine next to the bed. Mary was the first to break the silence.

"She is going to be ok. I mean, she was brought in right after she was shot. She is stable now and she will get better soon."

She gave Sherlock's shoulder another comforting squeeze and Sherlock nodded in confirmation.

"You know, Sherlock. Maybe you should get yourself cleaned up a bit. You look horrible." Mary suggested.

"I won't leave her." Sherlock replied instantly whirling around to face Mary.

"It only takes a second and John can stay here and watch Molly. Nothing will happen to her."

And Mary was right; when Sherlock caught his own reflection in the window he first didn’t recognise himself. His hair was dishevelled, wild curls pointing in every direction, the front of his shirt and his hands were still covered in Molly's blood, now dried in gruesome looking dark brown spots and he somehow had developed dark shadows under his eyes over the last hours. With a capitulating nod he followed Mary out into the corridor.

John sat down on the chair next to the bed and watched Molly intently. During his medical career he had seen multiple injuries, shot wounds, blown off limbs, people in comas, and yet this was completely new. This situation was different, because the person lying in front of him was somebody he knew so well. And somehow this small fact changed everything.

After no time at all Mary returned with Sherlock who was now wearing a green scrubs shirt that was definitely two sizes too large for him.

“Where did you get that?” John asked not able to repress a little grin.

“One of the surgeons was kind enough to let him borrow it.” Mary explained.

“Your wife insisted on getting rid of my shirt. And I didn’t have a spare one.” Sherlock added glaring at John.

“Well, you couldn’t have kept that bloody thing on. And I told you we will get you one of your shirts at Baker Street.”

“We’re going to Baker Street?” John asked looking back and forth between Sherlock and Mary in confusion.

“Yes, we’re getting a fresh shirt for Sherlock and update Mrs Hudson on Molly’s state.” Mary told him.

She discreetly gestured towards Sherlock with her head who had settled on another chair close to Molly’s bed looking at her with a still worried expression. Although now completely cleaned up and a bit refreshed Sherlock still didn’t look like himself. Understanding Mary’s silent message John rose from his chair.

“Anything else you need, Sherlock? Anything we can get you?” he inquired.

“Mh? No, I don’t think so.” Sherlock replied without looking up.

“Ok, so we’ll be back soon and you call us if anything changes, ok?” John asked.

Sherlock only nodded slowly and the Watsons walked towards the door.

But before they could leave Sherlock suddenly shouted “Her cat.” and they both turned around confused.

“Her cat?”

“Yes, her cat Toby; somebody has to feed him. I think when she wakes up she would rather not find her cat starved.” Sherlock explained dryly.

“Oh, ok. Yeah we can take care of that as well. But we’d need the keys to her flat for that.”

“Top left drawer in her desk in the lab.”

John and Mary exchanged another meaningful look before finally leaving.

With the Watsons gone the room suddenly felt even quieter than before and Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He looked down at Molly and her rahter peaceful features. Drawing his chair closer to her bed he gingerly reached out for her hand hovering only inches over it before pulling back again. Fidgeting with the oversized shirt he cleared his throat.

“I know you probably can’t hear me. Well, there is no conclusive evidence or data proving that people in a comatose state can actually hear you. But... I guess, it’s still worth a try, and I have talked to people who weren’t actually in the same room as me before, so I don’t see how this should be any different.” He started once again shifting in his chair leaning in closer to her.

“Well, Molly... if you can hear me, I just want you to know that I... hope you will get better soon. This is all my fault and I hope you’re not feeling any pain right now, although they probably pumped you up with some heavy pain killers, so that shouldn’t be a problem...”

To Sherlock's surprise he felt tears well up as he looked at Molly lying so fragile before him. Taking in a deep breath he closed his eyes for a moment pushing his emotions back where they belonged, safely locked away in his mind palace.

“Anyway, I guess, what I’m trying to say is, please wake up.” He murmured reaching out for her hand again, this time holding it gently in his.

“Please, just wake up. Because we would miss you... _because I would miss you_. And I know, you probably won’t believe me, _but I really need you_.”

He closed his eyes again bringing her hand to his mouth planting a soft kiss on it.

“Please,” he whispered against the back of her hand “please, Molly, wake up.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to keep you waiting too long this time and I had most of the ideas for this chapter already in my head anyway, so I sat down this evening to write. I've actually been looking forward to this chapter for some time and there's quite a lot happening, so I hope you'll like it and I'd love to hear what you think in the comments. :)

Over the next days a lot of visitors came and went again. Mrs Hudson couldn’t keep her hand from covering her mouth, repeatedly mumbling “Oh that poor girl.” or “How did this happen, Molly?” and had to be escorted outside by John as she suddenly burst into tears. Mike Stamford paid a visit and told them quietly how all her colleagues were hoping for her recovery. Lestrade dropped in as often as his work schedule allowed and he seemed to leave more depressed than he had been before each time.

Friends, colleagues, everybody came and went, but one person never left her side. The hospital staff had quickly understood that Sherlock Holmes couldn’t care less for mundane rules like visiting hours and that it would be just easier to let him stay than constantly argue. John and Mary had brought him some of his clothes and came by every now and again to check in on Molly and in a way to see if Sherlock was ok, too. He didn’t eat a thing until John forced him to have some of the biscuits Mrs Hudson had brought. Mary always collected a fresh cup of tea or coffee before going to Molly’s room and wouldn’t leave before Sherlock had finished it. Nevertheless, he still looked worse with every day that went by. He didn’t sleep partly because he wasn’t really able to find any rest and for fear of being asleep if Molly woke up. _When not if; **when** Molly wakes up. _ He told himself. Because Molly had to wake up and she would, he wasn’t going to give up hope just yet.

The night’s were the worst when the hospital slowly but surely became quiet and lights were turned off in the rooms all around him. When most of the staff went home to their families and only the night shift remained. Sherlock would have never admitted it but he always felt relieved when John or Mary or Lestrade visited. In some way it made him feel slightly better to see that he wasn’t going through this alone. But in the end... he still was. Because Molly’s state wasn’t their fault, they weren’t to blame, after all Molly had taken his bullet not theirs. And when the sky outside turned from blue to black and he was left alone with his thoughts, he felt that guilt weighing down on him more than ever.

On the third night even Sherlock had to admit that he was exhausted. His limbs were aching from sitting in the same position for the last hours, his neck was stiff and his eyes were burning. Getting up he walked over to the sink in the corner and splashed some water onto his face. The man looking back at him from the small mirror above the sink was only a ghost of himself, with dark rings under his eyes, unruly hair and his skin a sickly shade of grey. But Sherlock didn’t care, his state merely reflected the way he felt and he had long since given up on hiding his distress, it simply required too much effort. Sleepily he walked back to his chair and rested his head next to Molly’s hand on the mattress.

“I know I keep repeating myself...” he whispered reaching for her hand. “But Molly you have to wake up. Please wake up, for me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment gently brushing his thumb over her hand and before he knew it his exhaustion finally caught up with him and he dozed off into a nightmare ridden sleep.

When he first felt the slight movement he didn’t wake up at once, sleepily trying to recall where he was and why he was sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. But when the hand that was still lying in his twitched for the second time everything suddenly came back to him and his head shot up, eyes wide awake and focused on Molly.

“Molly?” he breathed drawing closer to her. “Can you hear me?”

Slowly Molly’s eyes began to move under their lids and Sherlock gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Sherlock?”

“I’m here.” Sherlock replied as she blinked at him.

“What happened?” Molly asked while trying to sit up.

“No, don’t move. You have been shot.” Sherlock explained putting a calming hand on her shoulder to keep her down. “You’re in hospital.”

“I want to sit up.” Molly insisted struggling with the oxygen tube and Sherlock helped her remove it from her face before slowly propping her up against a pillow.

“How long was I out?”

“Three days. You took a bullet for me, do you remember?” Sherlock inquired still holding on to her hand. “You saved my life.”

“Three days?” Molly exclaimed her eyes wide with disbelief.

“Yes. We... were very worried. Can you remember what happened?” Sherlock asked again.

“Yes, it’s all a bit blurry. But ... I remember ... you weren’t able to find enough evidence for a case and we went for a walk. I had lunch; we sat across the big fountain at the Barbican.” Molly recalled staring into mid-air. “There was a card; it had fallen from the roof. You crouched down to examine it and then I saw a red light on the back of your head. And then there was this pain...” she trailed of wincing slightly at the memory.

Sherlock felt another wave of guilt rush over him and he quickly looked down. Absentmindedly he ran his thumb over the back of her hand.

“You were brought in right away. You were in the emergency room for hours; you were quite lucky they said. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to-“ Sherlock started but was cut off by the door being opened.

“Mr Holmes, I just wanted to check in before my shift ended and-“ the Nurse said stopping immediately upon seeing that Molly was awake. “Oh, you are awake! Thank God! I’ll get Doctor Twight right away, he just came in.” he added and rushed out the door again.

Being left alone again Sherlock felt the urge to tell Molly everything that had been on his mind over the last days, there was so much he needed her to hear but somehow he didn’t know where to start. Lost for words he simply looked at her and she smiled at him shyly.

“I... I never wanted you to get hurt.” He whispered. “I never wanted anybody to die for me.”

“I didn’t die, Sherlock. I’m right here.”

“But you could have died. You saved my life and it could have killed you.” He insisted looking back down on his hands. “Promise me... to never do that ever again.”

“You mean, the next time somebody is aiming at you I should just let you die?” Molly requested a hint of indignation in her voice.

Sherlock only nodded silently without looking up.

“I couldn’t do that.” She said not louder than a whisper. “I couldn’t live with that, Sherlock. I couldn’t live with myself knowing that you died and I could have saved you.”

As Sherlock looked up to face her again she saw that silent tears were running down his face, all the build up and pushed back emotions from the last days finally spilling out.

“Who said I could?” he replied his voice hoarse and shaky.

Staring at each other silently they seemed to be lost in the moment, both unsure what to say, when they were yanked back into reality by the nurse returning with Doctor Twight following close behind.

“I was just about to check up on Ms Hooper before my shift ended and I found her awake. I thought you wanted to know right away.” The nurse explained.

“Of course, yes, thank you. Molly! You’re awake; you have no idea how worried we all were.” He said a big smile on his face quickly moving over to her bed.

Sherlock instantly got up and stepped back making room for the doctor while wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

“Hello, David.” Molly said weakly smiling up at the man.

“How are you feeling? Can you remember what happened?” the doctor inquired checking her ECG and then the reaction of her eyes with a small torchlight.

“Erm, yes, kind of. It’s a bit of a blur but it’s slowly coming back to me.”

“Good, very good. We have to do some proper tests, of course, but as far as I can see you’re fine.”

The nurse cleared his throat behind him and politely asked if his help was still required.

“Oh, no. You can go, Sebastian. I didn’t want to keep you, go home and get some sleep.” The doctor replied light heartedly before returning to Molly. “It’s so good to see you up and awake again.”

“Thank you, Doctor Twight. Goodbye, Ms Hooper, I hope you’re getting better soon.” The nurse said before leaving.

“Oh what a great boy.” Doctor Twight declared. “Just started this month, so eager to work. Somebody dropped out yesterday and he didn’t hesitate to jump in. He hasn’t left the hospital for days. If only all of them were so motivated.” He added with a sigh. “So, I’m going to order some tests for this afternoon and I think we’ll keep you in for at least two more nights even if the results are fine just to make sure everything is ok.”

“Sounds good.” Molly answered nodding slightly.

“Ok, good. I should probably go and check up on my other patients. You’re not in any pain?”

“No, actually I feel just fine, still a bit groggy but fine.”

“Good, good. It’s such a relief to have you back.” He told her again smiling broadly at her before finally going back to his work.

“People really like you.” Sherlock remarked from the corner he was standing in a small smile playing around his mouth.

“They seem to, yeah.” Molly replied looking straight back at him.

After another moment of silence Sherlock took his phone from his pocket and scrolled to John’s number.

“I should tell Mary and John that you are up. They will be really relieved. I’ll just be outside, ok?”

Molly nodded and sank back into her pillow as Sherlock stepped outside the door.

 

* * *

As the sky turned from a faint pink to light blue and the news of Molly’s recovery was passed on to everybody quickly, the nurse opened his door with a creak and stepped inside his flat. He shrugged off his coat, dropped his bag at the door and walked straight into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

“So the pathologist is among us again?” a familiar voice required out of the darkness of the dining room.

“Yes, she is and everybody is oh so happy. It’s sickening.” He replied taking two mugs and the tea from the cupboard.

“He’s been there all this time?”

“Never left her side.” Sebastian explained with a hollow laugh. “The sod was crying when she finally woke up. Crying!”

“Oh, Sherlock. So predictable, so disappointing.” The voice from the shadows responded.

As the kettle boiled Sebastian poured the water into the mugs and added a splash of milk to his tea.

“What’s the plan now?” he asked putting the milk back into the fridge.

“Oh, you will know soon enough.” The man from the dining room replied and Sebastian heard him get up.

“You’re not staying for tea?”

“Sorry, love, I’m far too busy. But thank you.” The man said as he walked past the kitchen down the corridor halting in front of the door. “Oh, I meant to congratulate you on your nice work. Good shot, really impressive.” He remarked without turning around.

“I never miss.” Sebastian stated matter-of-factly while leaning against the wall leisurely.

“And that’s why I like working with you, Moran.” Moriarty responded looking over his shoulder smiling cruelly.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm curious: Who suspected something was up when Doctor Twight called him Sebastian?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I have been gone forever. Or at least from this story. I DO intend to finish it some day. I just let it rest for too long and picking up the story again got harder and harder. But here I am. With a new chapter and it's longer than any chapter before. I don't know if that's a good thing but it just happened. I hope this isn't a let down after nearly two years of nothing.

The last two days had gone by in a blur. They had been full of happy visitors, relieved sighs, smiles. Quite frankly it had been a bit too much commotion for Sherlock but he had just stepped back and watched while Molly was showered in flowers, good wishes and chocolates she couldn't possibly all eat; and he had observed. It seemed like there wasn't a soul in the whole hospital that didn't show up at her bedside and even though Sherlock had always believed her to keep to herself she seemed to have far more friends than expected. Of course the Watsons came by as soon as they heard the good news and Mrs Hudson visited one afternoon, too. And even though he didn't really join into the happy chatter, he felt better than he had for days. Seeing her laughing and smiling and simply being alive, had lifted a weight off his back he wasn't sure he could have carried much longer. The test results had been rather good and Molly's recovery seemed to go along fine. Maybe the universe was on their side for once which of course was a silly sentimental thought that Sherlock dismissed immediately. Miracles didn't exist and there was no such thing as fate, it was all nonsense.

Mary and John had offered to drive Molly home when she was allowed to go, and so the four of them were sitting in the small hospital room again waiting for the doctor to finally discharge her.

“How are you feeling, Molly?” Mary asked smiling at her.

“Oh, already much better. I mean, I'm still on those pain killers, so I don't really know how bad it might get once they are finished,” Molly answered laughing a bit.

“You will be fine,” John threw in.

“Anyway,” Molly said sitting up a bit , “How's little Charlotte doing?”

From the corner Sherlock couldn't repress a small smile. Despite being the one that had been shot and nearly died, Molly didn't like to be the focus of the conversation. Being the centre of attention seemed to make her feel uncomfortable and she always found a quick way to lead her visitors onto other topics. While John recounted the latest achievements of little Charlotte - a subject he only too eagerly delved into whenever the opportunity occurred - Sherlock checked the time on his phone. The doctor would be here any minute and as far as he could tell Molly was feeling healthy enough to leave this very afternoon. He couldn't pros-pone it much longer.

“... and then she-”

“Yes, John, our daughter is brilliant. But maybe you want to save some of the stories for later,” Mary intervened seeing the slightly tired look on Molly's face.

Confused John turned to his wife and seeing her raised eye brows shrugged and nodded.

“He gets a bit overexcited sometimes,” Mary explained regarding him with a soft smile before turning back to Molly.

“No, it's okay. I love hearing about her,” Molly replied.

“See?! She is interested,” John protested folding his arms in front of his chest.

“Yes, but the woman at the supermarket check-out wasn't, and neither was the post man you basically held hostage this morning.”

“I didn't...,” John grumbled sinking a bit deeper into his chair.

Fidgeting with his phone Sherlock shifted from one foot to the other in the corner while going through the conversation he was about to have. He didn't want to make this call but he really had no choice.

“So, are you looking forward to getting back home then?” Mary asked.

“Mh, yes. I can't wait to sleep in my own bed again. A hospital is just not the same, you know?”

“Oh, I bet. And I mean I couldn't sleep either with him,” she laughed pointing at Sherlock behind her, “watching over you like a hawk all the time.”

Looking up from his phone's screen Sherlock watched the two women closely.

“What?” Molly asked a confused expression on her face. “He never stayed here overnight.”

“Oh?” Mary replied turning around to look at him in the corner her eye brows raised. “Didn't he?”

Ignoring Mary's knowing stare Sherlock simply gave her a tight smile and then excused himself to make the dreaded call. Closing the door behind him he let out a breathe before dialling the familiar number.

“Oh so he is alive after all,” his brother's voice snarled immediately after picking up.

“I was occupied.”

“Too occupied to reply to any of my texts or take one call?”

“Yes.”

For a moment neither spoke.

“So now that you are not occupied anymore. What made you grant me the pleasure of a call?”

“Mycroft!” Sherlock spit out through gritted teeth.

“I am serious, Sherlock. You are unreachable for a week and now you suddenly call me. You must have a good reason.”

Swallowing down the rude replies that went through his head and fighting the urge to just end the call Sherlock didn't reply instead pacing down the hallway.

“Mh, dear brother, shall I venture an educated guess?” Mycroft mocked at the end of the line. “Our dear Ms Hooper is being discharged today.”

“That wasn't a guess. You looked into her files.”

“I might as well have,” Mycroft admitted. “But that still doesn't bring us to the root of your call.”

Seeing Doctor Twight appear at the end of the corridor Sherlock nodded to him before the doctor vanished inside Molly's hospital room.

“I need your help,” Sherlock spit out.

“Mh? I thought as much.”

“Then why did you make me say it?”

Sherlock could basically hear his brother smile at the other end of the line. Before Mycroft could reply anything he continued.

“She needs protection. He will find a way to hurt her again. I need one of your teams to keep her safe. I never was the target, - “

“- she was, I know. The sniper could have easily shot you, he waited for her to jump into the line.”

“So you know that she can't be left alone. And my homeless network isn't trained for a job like this. I don't care how many favours I have to do for you in the future but you have to help me with this.”

“Everything is already in place.”

“What?” Sherlock asked perplexed.

“I took care of everything. As soon as Ms Hooper returns home, she will be surveyed 24/7. I personally insured that our best people are watching over her.”

“But...”

“Sherlock, I am not a fool. I do understand how important she is to you. I might have overlooked that fact in the past but if anything the last week has been prove enough.”

Another silence fell.

“Thank you,” Sherlock whispered.

“My pleasure. I do hope you know that our parents' next visit will be your call of course.”

“Of course,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Good,” Mycroft replied cheerily. “Oh and maybe you could introduce Ms Hooper to them. Now that you two are-”

“Don't even try to finish that sentence,” Sherlock growled.

“I am not the one getting involved, Sherlock.”

“Neither am I.”

“Mh... if you say so,” Mycroft mused.

After another pause the older brother added.

“You might still be fooling yourself but you're not fooling Moriarty you know that, don't you?”

As Sherlock stayed silent Mycroft tried again.

"He knows of her importance.”

“That's why I need you to keep her safe until I am finished with him.”

“And then?”

“And then she will be safe.”

“There will be new Moriartys.”

“I know.”

A heavy silence hung in the air. Both brothers knew what being important to Sherlock Holmes actually meant. Molly would never really be safe, somehow she would always be in the line of danger. Unless... Sherlock would cut her out of his life.

“I will make sure that she never gets hurt again,” Sherlock murmured making a decision. “Thank you, Mycroft.”

“Sherlock? Be careful, would you?” Mycroft pleaded before Sherlock could hang up.

In response he only got a non committal half sigh but at least he had finally spoken to his brother again.

Sherlock let his phone slip back into his pocket feeling slightly relieved now that he knew Mycroft would protect Molly. But there were heavier decisions ahead and he would have to track down Moriarty. The fight wasn't over. As he slowly walked back to Molly's room Mary slipped out and stopped him in his tracks.

“So you haven't been watching over Molly every night?” she asked a cheeky grin on her face.

“You heard Mo-”

“Yes, but then I wonder why Mrs Hudson said you weren't home since the shooting. And don't even try to lie, Sherlock, you know who you're talking to.”

Letting out a deep sigh Sherlock looked to the floor.

“I couldn't leave her alone,” he admitted, “She was defenceless.”

“So you camped outside her hospital room every night?”

“One night I did some experiments in the lab on the card Moriarty left me. Only basics, trying to find out where it might have been. Didn't find much. Wiggins watched her for me.”

Looking up again he found Mary still smiling.

“I don't need your mockery,” he grumbled.

“Oh, Sherlock, I'm not mocking you. No,” she said softly giving his hand a light squeeze, “I actually think that was quite thoughtful and.... sweet of you. But why didn't you tell Molly?”

“She doesn't need to know.”

“I think I disagree on that.”

“She doesn't need to know,” Sherlock only repeated this time more fiercely.

Seeing that she wasn't getting anywhere Mary nodded and gave him another smile.

“Okay,” she said turning around, “Shall we get our patient home then?”

 

* * *

 

Molly's things were packed in no time and Sherlock brought in the wheelchair the hospital had supplied for her.

“Who is that thing for?” Molly asked immediately.

“For you of course,” Sherlock replied his nose crunched. “The nurse brought it round so we can get you to the car. I thought that was obvious.”

“I am perfectly capable of walking. Thank you,” Molly snapped and stood up abruptly.

Seeing her sway a little Mary held out a helping hand but Molly refused.

“I'm fine.”

“You don't have to walk to the car,” Mary told her gently trying to argue with the pathologist. “You will only tire yourself out.”

“Listen to her,” Sherlock added, “she's a qualified nurse.”

“She's right, you know?” John chipped in looking a bit worried at Molly's resistance.

“There you go,” Sherlock said as if that had settled things. “You can't argue with your personal doctor and nurse.”

Pushing the wheelchair next to her he motioned for her to sit down but Molly only shook her head.

“I walked around the hospital yesterday,” she protested. “To the coffee machine and back. I can do this.”

“But you had me for support,” Sherlock whispered suddenly very aware of Mary's stare again.

“Well, I have you now, too, don't I?”

Frowning down at her Sherlock didn't know what to reply. Somehow he just knew that Molly wouldn't budge on this issue. Of course she knew that she wasn't in the right, she definitely knew that her request was stupid and that using the chair would be best for her. And yet something seemed to compel her to stand her ground and not give in. She could be so illogical sometimes. Sighing slightly he pulled the chair out of her way.

“Have it your way,” he grumbled snatching her bag from the bed and exiting the room without another glance leaving a slightly forlorn Molly behind.

“Let me,” John immediately offered and stepped forward offering his arm which Molly only too gladly took.

Fifteen minutes later the four of them were in the Watsons' car making their way through London's traffic to Molly's flat. Mary had already made up a plan to trick Sherlock into taking the back seat with Molly by the time they had reached the parking lot but to her surprise no trickery was needed as Sherlock climbed in after her. Checking the rear-view mirror she smiled slightly seeing Sherlock watch Molly's profile.

“It might take some time,” Mary said making Sherlock jump slightly which earned her a disgruntled look through the mirror. “Traffic around this time is just hell.”

“Don't worry, Mary. We are in no rush,” Molly replied still gazing out the window at the sky. “And thanks again for taking me.”

“Don't mention it,” John said turning around to face them. “Music?”

“Why not,” Molly answered regarding him with a smile for a moment before returning her attention to the street.

“Good,” John said switching the radio on.

As the car was filled with music Molly leaned back into her seat and exhaled deeply just to find Sherlock still staring at her.

“What?” she whispered.

“Are you okay?” Sherlock replied also in a low voice.

“Yes,” Molly replied instantly but she couldn't hold his gaze too long.

Staring back outside the window she fidgeted with her hands in her lap.

“You sure?”

Turning sharply to face him again she frowned up at the detective.

“Yes,” she hissed more defensive than was really necessary.

For a moment they just stared at each other. Molly trying to look as indifferent as possible while Sherlock having difficulty figuring out what exactly was wrong with her. The small dispute they had had about the wheelchair surely couldn't have caused this. She wouldn't hold a grudge over a little thing like that. And she had seemed just fine the day before in the hospital. This sudden change in her mood and behaviour was most suspicious. It was so unlike Molly to be that defensive and hostile in her reactions. Maybe he had done something, something that had escaped him, something that had upset her. Apart from the fact that he was the reason she had gotten shot in the first place of course. Was this why she pushed him away now? Was this what it was all about?

“I'm sorry,” he tried looking at her concern clearly written on his face.

“You don't have to apologise.”

“But you're mad at me.”

“Actually, I'm not,” she replied a puzzled expression replacing her frown.

Crunching up his nose he studied her again. She was still fidgeting with her hands in her lap and her whole body language seemed tense, as if she was ready to jump any second. Following Sherlock's gaze Molly looked down at her hands as well, stopping herself immediately.

“I'm fine,” she repeated barely audible, “really I am.”

Staring stoically out of the window at the passing traffic again Molly ignored his look that she could still feel on the back of her neck. Unconsciously she began wringing her hands again. After checking that both Mary and John had not been listening nor were paying attention to what was happening on the back seat at all, Sherlock slowly reached out to Molly gently resting his hand over hers bringing her nervous fidgeting to a stop. For a moment Molly seemed to tense up even more under his touch and Sherlock was about to pull his hand back when he felt her fingers entwine with his. Neither said a word nor was it apparent from their body language that anything had passed between them as Molly was still gazing out of the window while Sherlock looked straight ahead but still something seemed to have changed in that little moment and Sherlock contently heard Molly's breathing getting gradually calmer beside him.

* * *

Post-traumatic stress disorder short PTSD is a mental disorder that a person can develop after being exposed to one or a series of traumatic events. While being mostly associated with victims of warfare or terrorism, it can also be caused by sexual assault, traffic collisions or other threats on a person's life. Symptoms include avoidance of trauma-related cues or places, alterations in general behaviour and self-perception, numbing, re-experiencing or hyper-arousal. Patients can seem easily startled or distanced while certain triggers might cause them to relieve the traumatic event all over again.

* * *

After the tedious and long ride through London's jammed up streets the four of them were happy to finally have made it to Molly's flat. Outside Sherlock noticed the black surveillance car parked in front of the apartment block and made a mental note to thank Mycroft again when the possibility occurred. They took the elevator together and silently walked down the corridor Sherlock carrying Molly's bag, while Mary had interlinked her arm with Molly giving her a bit of support while she walked. Inside the flat Sherlock went straight into Molly's bedroom unpacking her things and putting them away in her wardrobe as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I can do that, Sherlock!” Molly shouted from the kitchen.

“Oh let him be helpful for once,” he heard Mary say, “I bet it won't happen again too soon.”

When he re-emerged from the room he found Molly sitting at the kitchen table looking rather exhausted from the little journey and Mary reading a text on her phone.

“Oh, we'd rather get going. Mrs. Hudson is looking after Charlotte and we promised to be back in time so she won't miss her bingo night,” she exclaimed looking at the time. “I'm so sorry, Molly.”

“Oh no, that's okay. I understand,” Molly replied immediately smiling at the Watsons, “you were already too nice. Thanks so much for driving me home.”

“No problem at all,” John said giving her a broad smile. “I hope you'll feel better in no time.”

“Yes, Molly, and if you need anything. Just call me, okay?” Mary added wrapping the pathologist in a careful hug.

“I will.”

“Okay, we really have to dash. Goodbye and take care of yourself,” Mary said giving Molly's hand another squeeze while John smiled behind her.

“Sherlock, you need a lift?” he asked but the detective only shook his head slightly.

“I'll be fine.”

“Good. Goodbye then,” John said with another nod before both Mary and him were out the door.

With the Watsons gone the flat seemed awfully quiet and Molly restlessly drummed her fingers on the kitchen table.

“Tea?” she asked for lack of anything better on her mind and rose instantly to put the kettle on.

“Yes, thank you,” Sherlock replied wondering off through the open plan kitchen into the living room.

Drawing the curtains to the side he glanced down into the street watching the Watsons' car pull away and once again checking on the surveillance team. Earlier he had already inspected all windows in both the bathroom and the bedroom to make sure that they were securely shut and nobody had been in the flat since Molly last was home. As far as he could tell everything seemed completely normal and with all precautions in place Molly was completely save. And yet, he couldn't stop himself from worrying. The easiest way to ensure her safety would be staying himself of course, but with Moriarty on his tail that would put her into more danger than ever. Maybe he should just stay a little longer making sure that Molly was in fact alright. Or at least that was what he told himself.

“The tea's ready.”

Walking back to the kitchen he gladly took one steaming cup from Molly before taking a seat opposite her at the table.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good. A little tired maybe,” Molly admitted between sips, “but David said that the pain killers could make me drowsy.”

“Mh.” Sherlock nodded.

After a short pause he added. “Mycroft's men are downstairs. In a surveillance car, I mean.”

“What?”

“For your protection,” he explained, “just in case, of course. But I thought you should know.”

“Okay...” Molly answered looking rather more worried than reassured.

“So, you should be completely save in here. Nobody can get to you. No reason to be worried.”

“Okay...” Molly said again taking a large gulp of tea.

Watching her mug and the rising steam instead of Sherlock she spoke again after another pause.

“I'm not worried, you know? I'm fine.”

“Good.”

“I mean, I survived this,” she said pointing at her stomach chuckling slightly, “what else can happen?”

Looking straight at her Sherlock couldn’t quite figure out if she was being serious or not. To him it definitely was no laughing matter.

“You shouldn’t take this too lightly,” he mumbled more to himself than to her but it did stop her laughter immediately.

“That's not what I meant,” Molly shot back a tinge of anger mixed in her voice. “I was just trying to make a joke.”

“Well, don't. We both know how bad you are at those,” Sherlock spit out regretting his words instantly.

Looking at the mug in his hands he closed his eyes for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he said without looking at her.

“Would you stop apologising?”

“Sorry.”

Realising his mistake he gave her an apologetic shrug and half smirk. They continued drinking in silence glancing at the other once in awhile.

“Oh,” Molly exclaimed suddenly jumping up, “you must be hungry. You haven't eaten a thing all day.”

Before Sherlock could even reply she was at the fridge trying to find something edible which was - after a week long absence - of course nearly impossible.

“Molly, I’m fine. You don’t nee-”

“I must have some cookies somewhere,” she cut him off starting to rummage through her cupboards.

On one of the top shelves she finally found the box she was looking for. Standing on tiptoe she tried to reach it wincing slightly as she stretched her body more than she should. In a split second Sherlock was behind her one hand on her shoulder.

“Wait, let me ge-,” he started but couldn't quite finish his sentence as Molly whirled around freeing herself from his grip and accidentally landing her elbow in his stomach.

Eyes wide with shock Molly stared at Sherlock while he rubbed his ribs.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” she stammered.

“It's okay. I had worse,” Sherlock told her already reaching for the cookies again.

“No, really I am sorry. I don't know what got into me. I -”

“Here.”

Holding out the box he smiled at her but Molly didn't take it. Staring at her own hands she seemed to be frozen in shock.

“Molly?”

Reaching out for her he tried to grab her hand but she pulled away backing away from him. Worried Sherlock halted in his movement trying not to upset her any further.

“Are you okay?”

Jerking her head to the side she seemed to shake off an unwanted thought before turning her back to him.

“I'm fine,” she said her voice oddly hoarse.

Trying to get a better look at her again Sherlock slowly edged around her but he could only get a glimpse of her face and her slightly shaking hands before she rushed off in the direction of the bedroom.

“I will be right back!” she reassured him.

Following her silently Sherlock made his way into the bedroom stopping in front of the locked bathroom door. Pushing one ear against the wood he listened to the sounds coming from inside but the only thing he could make out was the tap running.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Molly returned from inside.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Molly shouted.

Still worried Sherlock decided to give her some time and returned to the kitchen instead. Keeping himself busy he took a handful of cookies stuffing two directly into his mouth before putting the rest on a plate. As their teas had gone cold by now he refilled the kettle and started it again. After a short search he found some peppermint tea and dropped one bag into each mug. Molly definitely didn't need any more caffeine tonight. The kettle had just boiled when he heard Molly come back into the room behind him. Turning around slowly he gave her a small smile.

“The tea had gone cold,” he said holding up the kettle as an explanation before pouring the boiling water into the cups.

“Oh,” she said, “thanks.”

Taking in her appearance Sherlock could make out traces of tears on her face: the remnants of smudged mascara, the slightly reddened nose. But she seemed adamant about hiding the fact that she had been crying so he thought it best to not address the subject. Instead he handed her one mug and set down the plate of cookies on the table. Taking his seat again he watched her closely as she sat down as well.

“Sorry for that,” she said after a while.

“It's okay.”

Sipping their tea they both nibbled on a biscuit but somehow they were both not particularly hungry anymore. A heavy silence hung between them. As Sherlock finished his cup of tea he stared at the empty mug for a while.

* * *

Trauma is common in women; five out of ten women experience a traumatic event. While men are more likely to feel angry or have trouble controlling their frustration, women tend to be jumpy, can't seem to feel emotions and avoid things that remind them of the incident. Furthermore, they are prone to feel depressed and anxious partly because they are more likely to blame themselves for the traumatic event than men who are more drawn to alcohol or drugs when experiencing PTSD.

Yet, on average women are more likely than men to seek help after a traumatic event. Studies have shown that women respond to treatment as well as or better than men. This may be because women are generally more comfortable sharing feelings and talking about personal issues than men.

* * *

"Okay, so I'll better be getting home then," Sherlock said looping his scarf around his neck. "Thank you for the tea and... the cookies."

"You're welcome." Molly replied getting up from her chair.

"Don't get up," Sherlock protested holding up one hand, "I know where the door is."

Giving her a lopsided grin he looked at her for a moment.

"If you need anything. Just call me or send a text or..." he trailed off shrugging slightly.

"Thank you. I will."

Although all seemed to have been said and there really was no reason to stay any longer Sherlock was rooted to the floor unable to move. He simply didn't want to leave her alone. Not in the state she was in. And yet, he didn't want to push himself onto her. And she seemed much calmer than before.

"So..." Sherlock said wrapping his coat tight around him. "I'll let you get your rest."

"Yeah. I'll probably call it an early night," Molly replied smiling slightly.

"Good."

Another pause followed before Sherlock finally found it in him to leave.

"Good," he repeated, "Goodnight then."

Walking down the hall toward the door Molly followed him leaning against the wall. Giving her one last nod Sherlock reached for the door handle when Molly suddenly spoke.

"Stay."

Turning around he let the door fall back shut again behind him.

"What?"

Looking to the floor Molly fidgeted with her jumper.

"Would you... I mean just for tonight... I don't know... It's just... It's silly, really it is. It's just I..." she stammered.

Shaking her head slightly she straightened up while taking a deep breathe looking like she made a decision.

"You know what?" she laughed, "Forget what I said. I'm being silly. I'm fine. You can go."

Regarding her with an intense stare Sherlock didn't move an inch.

"It's okay, Molly. You have been shot. It's okay to feel scared," he whispered his voice unusually soft.

Taking a tentative step forward he continued.

"It's a perfectly natural reaction."

When she finally looked up at him again he could see tears forming in her eyes.

"Just for tonight maybe?" she admitted a tear rolling down her cheek. "I'm being totally silly, aren't I? I don't even know what I'm scared of. I know I'm totally save but still..."

"It's okay," Sherlock repeated stepping even closer.

"I'm so afraid," Molly sobbed her body starting to shake as she buried her face in her hands.

Slowly Sherlock reached out to her pulling her gently towards him until he held her tightly in his arms.  
  
"It's okay," he whispered, "I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
